


we have only till the night is over

by gandrshot



Series: as sun seeks day [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Blood and Injury, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, Trauma, WILDLY corny but literally who is going to stop me., literally might as well just be a checklist of my favorite tropes at this point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandrshot/pseuds/gandrshot
Summary: A collection of moments shared between Martin and his Champion across the span of the Oblivion Crisis.
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim, Male Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim
Series: as sun seeks day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610296
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a collection of short ficlets - mostly prompt fills - that are Martin/HoK centric. chapters are in more or less chronological order. title from the Lord Huron song [When The Night Is Over.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juKGjUGPyHs)
> 
> this collection can be seen as a prequel to the titular (and primary) work in the series, _[as sun seeks day,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369522)_ but they can be read in any order, if at all, and neither is strictly necessary to understand the other.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [100 Ways To Say I Love You](https://thiievesguild.tumblr.com/post/187888885301/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you) \- 7. "I dreamt about you last night" & 57\. "There's enough room for both of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> context is pre-relationship
> 
> [tumblr mirror here](https://thiievesguild.tumblr.com/post/614222761613803520/hiya-if-youre-still-doing-these-100-ways-to-say) (feel free to send prompts there at any time and they'll be liable to wind up in this collection eventually.)

Martin was no stranger to night terrors and the sorts of dreams that only left him wanting to drink to forget - his whole life he'd been plagued by them, and now that he had an understanding of his real parentage he had a feeling that was something of a clue as to why - but his mind had been even less kind to him than usual, and that was saying something, since Kvatch. Worse still since he began translating the Mysterium Xarxes. At this rate, just one thing after another, he genuinely wondered if he'd ever get a good night's rest again.

What time it was he couldn't say - only that it was dark out, hours yet from the dawn at least, and though Emrys had made him retire that night earlier than he was used to, he felt like he might as well have gotten no rest at all. But a heavy body and heavier eyelids weren't near enough to lull him back to sleep - a mind heavier still made sure of it, and when he got tired of laying there fruitlessly, mind reeling with scenes of Kvatch replaying over and over, the stench of smoke and burning flesh brought fresh again to his mind, he finally swung his heavy body out of the fine Emperor's bed and sighed at its edge.

His first instinct was to drink to forget and hopefully nurse himself back to sleep with something strong and burning. And then a rush of shame and anger with himself quickly followed that instinct; for years he'd been sober, since he left Sanguine's service - since even before he took up the cloth - and it wouldn't do to go breaking that streak now.

But an empty room was doing him no favors either. Maybe the Blades weren't exactly the company he had in mind, but it was better than toiling alone. And somewhere in the kitchen there had to be something a little less hard than a stiff drink that could lull him back to sleep.

Martin didn't expect to find his own knight sitting at the table in the main hall of the temple.

"What are you doing up?" Martin asked softly; no gentleness in his voice could keep Emrys from nearly jumping out of his skin.

"I..." As he struggled for the right words, Emrys looked remarkably like a child caught in the act of something he shouldn't have been. But as the surprise faded from his face, and he forced himself to look away, weariness and heartache and - if Martin squinted - _guilt,_ even, were all that were left, and Emrys just looked _tired_. He'd only just returned that evening, so that would be fair, but it was more than the bone-deep weariness of the road that he'd carried in with him. It was deeper than that, heavy bags of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark hair toussled and unrestrained curtaining down his shoulders, despair in green eyes duller than Martin remembered them.

Emrys stared down at his flaggon for a long while - he'd had that same first instinct as Martin, it seemed, without the same reservations in acting on it. "Couldn't sleep," he answered eventually. "I... dreamed about you."

Maybe if Martin didn't know better he'd prod. But the weight on Emrys' shoulders and in his voice told him enough.

"I couldn't sleep either," was all Martin replied, but his tone carried understanding, an intimate kind, that told Emrys enough, too.

Martin crossed the stone floor of the hall quietly and found a place at the table across from Emrys, sagging into the chair with heavy shoulders of his own.

"Can I get you anything?" Emrys asked; no exhaustion was enough to betray his duty, it seemed.

"I don't drink," Martin reminded gently.

"No, I know, but I meant-" Emrys floundered, just for a beat, but it took a moment before he resigned and settled on, " _anything._ "

Martin only smiled. "No, my friend. I wouldn't ask anything of you right now, not when you're as exhausted as I am."

Emrys shifted almost uneasily - like he didn't _like_ that response, and Martin knew there was a deep-seated part of him that hated to be told to take care of himself when his lord needed tending to, or so he perceived - but any protests he kept to himself, for once, and for that Martin was thankful.

"How much sleep did you get?" Martin asked, breaking the long silence that had settled between them. Emrys shrugged.

"A few hours. I couldn't say." There was an undertone of _not nearly enough_ to it. Judging by the fact that his flaggon was nearly empty, it had been even less than Martin. 

He frowned softly. "That won't do. Not with how rough it is to sleep on the road."

Emrys shrugged again, almost half-heartedly, and gestured with his flaggon. "This'll put me to sleep just fine, I figure. I'll be alright."

The prospect of being left alone when Emrys left - more than that, sending himself to bed alone - with nothing to keep him from toiling in his own thoughts really settled in then, dread coming with it. Emrys was a distraction. No, that wasn't fair - he was a _comfort_. And he was someone Martin cared about enough to hate the idea of sending him off alone with all of his mind's burdens, too.

"The bed in the Emperor's quarters must be far nicer than the one they afford you," Martin remarked. Emrys caught his meaning - or at least, part of it - right away, straightening with surprise.

"No, I'm- I'm not putting you out of your own bed," Emrys replied firmly. There wouldn't have been any room to argue about it, if that had been what Martin had meant. But the priest laughed.

"There's room enough for two," he insisted, and tried not to laugh again at the way Emrys' cheeks flushed and the knight floundered with realization.

"I'd hate to inconvenience you."

"And I'd hate to be alone," Martin replied, sobering considerably, his tone now remarkably grave. "I... have scarcely slept well since Kvatch," he admitted, and looked away, like the pity in the knight's gaze was too much. He could still see Emrys' frown deepen out of the corner of his eye. "And the Mysterium Xarxes has been a heavy burden to translate."

"I'm sorry." Emrys' tone was heavier still with the weight of unspoken words, of the guilt he carried for failing to retrieve the Amulet of Kings in the first place - an apology not just for the fact that Martin was forced to carry the burden of translating it, but for the fact that, in Emrys' eyes, it was his fault that it was even a burden to carry. And it was an apology, somewhere in there deep down, Martin knew, for the fact that he'd been dragged into all this in the first place.

"When all of this is over," Martin assured, "it will have been worth it." And without really thinking about it, his hand went for Emrys', resting on the table beside his flaggon, his fingers curling around ones worn and calloused. Whether it was for the knight's comfort or his own, he couldn't rightly say.

"I'll stay with you," Emrys replied softly, voice scarcely more than a hoarse whisper. _Tonight,_ Martin told himself was the unspoken word at the end of that sentence, despite the way his heart picked up at the tone in the knight's voice that said _forever._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not actually a direct prompt fill but wholly inspired by. [this stupid shitpost](https://i.imgur.com/guOUUqu.jpg) that i saw at 3am and which of course immediately gripped me and would not leave me alone until i wrote it, except the original premise kind of wound up taking a back seat anyways
> 
> context is pre-relationship, but like. barely lmao
> 
>  **tw** for semi-graphic injury? i don't think it's bad enough to warrant an archive warning but i'm not entirely sure.

They were all exhausted. The Crisis was pushing everyone at Cloud Ruler Temple to their limits - every day Martin watched Blades return from the world outside those walls with haunted looks and fresh scars of both mind and body, only to be sent back out with just a few days' rest to do it all again; every day he poured over the Mysterium Xarxes till he could hardly even keep his eyes open long enough to drag himself to bed and hope he'd exhausted himself enough not to dream of the night that started it all or the horrors in the pages of that awful book; every day he worried himself sick over the knight somewhere beyond those doors on the front lines of it all, wondering what sort of news he'd bring or what stories he'd have to tell if he even managed to make it back at all. This was no way to live. Martin knew that. But there was no _other_ way to live, short of laying down and accepting all of Tamriel's fate at Mehrunes Dagon's hands. So they endured.

And yet, despite it all, when that knight finally did drag himself back, world-weary and battered and looking about ready to buckle under the pressure like he carried all of Nirn itself on his back, there was a shine in his eyes when he finally laid his sights on Martin like he hadn't known a single trouble in his life.

" _Emrys._ " The heaps of research materials and parchment scattered on one of the great hall's many wooden tables lay forgotten as Martin practically jumped to greet him at the door; the knight met him halfway, carefully dropping the heavy saddlebag he carried against one of the hall's wooden posts that he found himself bracing his weight against.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Emrys breathed, flashing a weak and tired smile. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

He was _not_ the one who should have been asking that question - his face had lost its color, the sickly pallor only making the bags under his eyes more pronounced, and he swayed on his feet, practically needing that post just to stay upright. He looked almost worse than he had in Kvatch, which was a feat in and of itself. Martin's brows furrowed deeply.

"I have," he replied distractedly, not so much the truth but _not_ his first concern as he reached up to touch the back of his hand to the other's forehead. "You're clammy. Do you feel ill?"

Emrys shook his head. "I'm just tired. It's been a long past couple of days. I haven't been sleeping well."

But it seemed to take a great effort just to get the words out and his voice alone spoke volumes of a profound weariness that went well beyond not sleeping well. "This isn't just sleep deprivation, Emrys, you look like you're about to collapse any minute."

"It's just magicka fatigue, that's all," he insisted stubbornly. "I had a little trouble on the way up here but I'm alright."

Martin frowned. "What sort of trouble?"

"Mythic Dawn ambush on the road from Chorrol this morning. Nothing I couldn't handle. I'm _alright,_ " he repeated, "really."

"Hmm." He wasn't _alright,_ no matter how well he handled the ambush, but nitpicking it wasn't going to get them anywhere - the fact of the matter was, what he needed was _rest._ "Come on, let's get you out of that armor. You can take my bed."

When the knight took his weight off the beam he swayed again, and Martin instinctively reached out to steady him, even knowing he was quite a bit heavier than the priest could probably handle on his own if he _did_ collapse fully. But Emrys' balance stayed true all the way to the emperor's quarters, where Martin would have him rest so he could get at least some modicum of privacy more than the general sleeping quarters below.

Getting the heavy steel plate armor _on_ was one thing, but Emrys was more than capable of getting it off by himself, and he set to work on it as Martin slid the door closed behind them, settling on the edge of the bed and fumbling with the laces of his greaves.

It was slower work than usual as Emrys took his time with each of the pieces of armor, exhaustion really settling in and making usually simple laces and buckles something of a chore; but he seemed dead set on taking care of himself, so for as much as Martin would have _liked_ to take it upon himself to help, hovering nervously at first, he only took each piece as it came off and laid them out neatly on the table at the edge of the room.

As the priest laid down the vambraces, Emrys winced, hissing in pain, and Martin frowned over his shoulder back at him, watching him fumble with a buckle at the side of his cuirass.

"Are you hurt?"

"A little sore, that's all." He tried again with the buckle, taking great pains to move a little more carefully now. "One of those damn cultists caught the mail under my arm, managed to cut through it. Not sure how." The buckle he was working at popped loose finally, and he flinched only slightly before moving down to the next. "It wasn't serious, though, you don't need to give me that look about it. I already closed it up."

That would explain the magicka fatigue, then. If he was already pushing his limits when he first tried to heal himself, the wound probably still needed more attention than what he'd been able to give it. Martin sighed, crossing the room to where Emrys sat on the edge of the bed.

"Let me see."

Emrys finished the last buckle and moved his hand away, lifting his arm just enough to let Martin take a look. Sure enough, the mail that covered the gap in his cuirass under his right arm had a ragged slice taken right through it, the remaining links covered in dark blood.

"You'll have to get this fixed before you head out again," Martin remarked idly, reaching out to gently feel at the damage to the mail and the doublet underneath, and nearly jumped out of his skin when his hand came away wet. " _Emrys!_ "

The knight looked just as surprised to looked down and see Martin's hand covered in his blood, stark red and fresh, and he might have even blanched if his face wasn't so drained of color to begin with.

"Oh."

Martin swore under his breath, stepping away only to wipe his hand off haphazardly with the rag by his washbasin before turning back to hurriedly finish pulling off the rest of the cuirass. The knight had already begun working at the buckles on the other side of his torso, but his hands fumbled so badly that by the time Martin had the shoulders unbuckled and unlaced, Emrys was still struggling with the first on his side and he could only drop his hands and let the other work.

The pieces of the cuirass were discarded with much less scrutiny than the rest of the armor, Martin far more concerned with getting him out of the doublet underneath; the black fabric hid the massive patch of blood that it had soaked up, but it was wet and clung stubbornly to Emrys' ribs and the shirt underneath even as they worked to peel it away. His undershirt, on the other hand, was stained so thoroughly, fresh blood saturated over what had already dried, that it might not even have been salvageable.

"How did you not _notice_ this?" Martin breathed, disbelief profound. He did his damnedest to help the other pull the shirt over his head without _too_ much pain, but even his most careful wasn't enough to keep Emrys from hissing in agony, barely stifling a cry from between clenched teeth.

" _Tired,_ " was all he said.

Martin sighed.

With Emrys' armor and clothing out of the way, the worst of it was mostly over. There was still too much blood, both fresh and old, caked to Emrys' skin for Martin to really get a good look at the extent of the angry cut across his ribcage; the priest passed a healing spell over the wound just long enough to get the bleeding to stop, before taking to the mess with the washbasin and rag, and to his great relief it didn't look so bad at all once all the blood was more or less cleaned away.

"It looks like it just re-opened itself somewhere on the road," Martin observed, settling in finally to take his magic to it properly, kneeling at the edge of the bed and working his golden glowing palm over the gash; after a few moments, Emrys' frame began to relax tangibly, the ache of it slowly soothing away. "You really ought to be more careful when you know you can't heal yourself any more than this."

"It wasn't _that_ serious," Emrys insisted lamely. Martin frowned.

"You could barely keep yourself on your feet when you got back here," he reminded pointedly. "You're very lucky you didn't take any more time on the ride up here than you did or you might have lost enough blood that you didn't make it back at all. What would you have done if you were caught in another ambush or ran into any other trouble after this?" There was no real edge or genuine harshness to his voice, though, even as he chided - only deep, heartfelt worry he couldn't help over all the _what-ifs_. Martin's brows furrowed as he kept his attention focused intently on the wound under his fingertips.

When Emrys said nothing, Martin shot a glance up to him - for the briefest of moments their eyes met, but almost as quickly as they did Emrys tore his gaze away, settling an unreadable expression on something across the room with a hard frown before Martin could make heads or tails of _what_ sort of a look the other had been fixing him in the first place. And yet somehow, something about it made his heart stick in his throat.

He turned quickly back to the task at hand, fixing all his concentration on healing the other like it would make him forget the fact that he quite suddenly couldn't find the words to continue. There were maybe a thousand different things Martin would have _liked_ to say, but every time he thought he might open his mouth his mind only drew up blank. So they sat in the heavy silence between them for a while longer instead.

It wasn't long before Martin's magicka finally began to dwindle, but by then there was little more he could do move the process along anyways, and he dropped his hand at last to scrutinize his handiwork.

"It's going to scar," he observed aloud, almost idly ghosting his hand against the skin underneath it. It looked now more like it had happened several weeks ago, perhaps even months at this point, rather than just a few hours before - an angry red line jagged and harsh across Emrys' broad ribcage, clearly one that'd had some trouble closing up and hardly neat or pretty by any means, something that wouldn't go away as it finished the rest on its own. But certainly far better than how Martin had found it, and all things considered an unseemly scar was a small price to pay compared to the alternatives. "It's not going to be pretty."

Somewhere along the way, Emrys had closed his eyes, and he looked so peaceful despite it all Martin could have almost believed he was sleeping if it weren't for the small smile he cracked at that. "Wouldn't be my first." As Martin pulled himself to his feet, Emrys took a slow, deep breath, almost like he was testing the waters, before lifting his arm and rolling his shoulder; he stopped short halfway through with a wince, though, sucking in a sharp hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Martin's hand jumped out instinctively to ease the other's arm down.

" _And_ it's going to be sore for a few more days," he added pointedly, as if Emrys hadn't just figured that out for himself. "I do hope you were planning on staying here for a while to get some rest, because I won't send you back out like this."

Emrys laughed weakly, giving a slow nod and cracking his eyes up at Martin. "No, you're right - rest does sound nice," he agreed.

Some of the color had begun to return to his cheeks, which told Martin that his restoration magic had done its job in more than just closing the wound; the bags under his eyes were still heavy and dark, though, and the profound weariness that seemed to seep into his features went beyond anything a healing spell or a good night's rest could fix. And yet still, his green eyes managed to glint brightly under the weight of it all like just looking up at Martin in that moment made all of it okay.

"Right, um- rest." It was Emrys that finally flustered after too long a moment and looked away, nervously reaching back to unfetter his hair as if just for the sake of giving him something to do with his hands, and Martin quickly stepped back and began tending to the clutter that they'd left in their haste. "I know you're busy with your research, too, I'm sorry for keeping you."

"Nonsense. I'm only thankful I could get you taken care of." He considered it for a moment. "Besides, I think it's about time I step away from it all for a while. I'll probably join you before long."

"Okay."

There was the rustling of sheets behind him as he finished laying out the rest of the armor that had been abandoned for more pressing matters, and as Emrys settled into the bed he gave a sigh of profound relief as he was finally able to truly relax.

Most of what was left could wait till morning - there was no way in hell Martin was going to try to tackle any of the blood-soaked garments just then - and he moved around the room as quietly as he could at least organizing it all, slipping out briefly just to handle the dirty washbasin and its pitcher. It wasn't late by any means, but the shortened days of early winter meant the sun was already nearly swallowed by the horizon, such that once he returned and snuffed out the last of the candles in the room, the emperor's quarters were almost entirely dark.

After changing quietly into clothes more suitable for sleeping, Martin slipped carefully into the empty side of the spacious bed, the knight beside him stirring only briefly, and when he finally settled in the silence around them gave his mind room to wander. He rolled his head to look at Emrys as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the other already fast asleep now that the sleep deprivation had finally caught up with him after everything else. It troubled Martin still how reckless Emrys had been, and not for the first time he was staring down the reality that any day now Emrys could leave Cloud Ruler Temple for the last time, and none of them would know it until it was entirely too late. The thought made his stomach churn.

"Emrys?" He asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper as he just tested the waters, hoping perhaps foolishly he'd been wrong and the other was still awake. Only silence answered. And yet, some part of him made him continue anyways, wouldn't let him rest until he did, heard by anyone else or not. "I just... worry desperately about you while you're out there. I know you want to put the cause above your own wellbeing, but you're important in all this. I just want you to take care of yourself - if not for all of Tamriel's sake, then for mine. I... you're very dear to me, and I couldn't do this without you."

It was the closest he could get to saying the honest truth aloud, even when he knew he had no captive audience but himself. Beside him, Emrys slept soundly, every word of it unheard and lost to the dark, and Martin sighed, rolling over onto his side and resolving to finally try and get some rest. It was nothing, after all, that couldn't wait until the morning.


End file.
